Love & Hate Series Box Set 2 (Love & Hate #3-4) Page 6

  My heart pounded in my chest and I kept pushing that damn washing machine away from the wall. A moment later I spotted a large hole in the basement wall and a pair of bright green eyes peering out from it.

  Shocked into silence, I squatted down, feeling like my legs were going to give out at any second.

  “Hey, it’s okay. You can come out now. No one is going to hurt you,” I said, realising that it was a petrified filthy creature. The eyes belonged to a girl, and she slowly came out of the wall. She was covered with bruises and cuts. My body shook violently when I saw her hollow cheeks, the bony hands and wet dirty clothes that were barely covering her body.

  I had no idea how old she might have been, maybe sixteen, eighteen or twenty, but I was too shocked to figure this out. She had purple swollen eyes and her nails looked like she had been trying to scratch her way out of that hole behind the washing machine.

  “Micah, what the fuck are you—”

  Crawly stopped in his tracks when he saw me with this beaten-up creature, who was trying to go back into the hole in the wall, looking frightened.

  “She was behind the washing machine,” I managed to choke out. “It’s okay, don’t be scared. We’re here to help you.”

  Crawly vanished upstairs, shouting more orders to others, while I attempted to talk that scrawny girl into coming out again.

  Eventually she did, throwing herself into my arms and whispering, “Please take me away from here. I don’t want to go back on the streets. Please. I don’t want him to touch me again.”

  I look into the eyes of a man whose daughter was murdered only a couple of days ago and I try to understand what he is going through. Maybe after years of being on my own and experiencing the worst of the worst, I don’t have any empathy left in me.

  I never managed to find out what her name was, the girl that I found. Several days later I heard that she was one of Rudolph’s pets. He had been abusing her for over five years. He forced her to smuggle drugs for him, beat her up for entertainment and did things to her that were unbearable to even listen to. He lived in that house for over twelve months, and for most of that time he kept her locked up in the basement in that filthy hole. He only let her out when he needed her to satisfy his sadistic needs.

  After that day, for weeks and weeks I kept thinking about her, not believing that a human could have behaved worse than an animal.

  “I have no idea, but I can assure you, Mr. Wallace, that we will find that motherfucker,” I tell him, losing my head, hearing the woman in front of me sobbing. I never stopped thinking about that girl, constantly wondering what happened to her. When she was taken upstairs to the ambulance, I promised her that I would take care of her, that I would never let anyone else hurt her.

  “The media is saying that you’re young, that you have no experience. We are talking about my little girl, Inspector. My wife and I won’t sleep until that sadist is locked up.”

  “We are working very intensely on this case, Mr. Wallace. We will get to the bottom of it,” I say, and then take a step away while his wife bursts into tears again. I detest her in that moment, because I’m numb, too fucking damaged to feel anything at all. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m needed in the evidence room.”

  I feel the husband’s eyes on me all the way back to the main corridor. My stomach makes a funny jolt when I lock myself in the bathroom to take a piss. Once I’m done I wash my hands, and then head over to catch up on emails. The girl with the pink hair is still on my mind; I can’t seem to stop thinking about her. I don’t know how much time passes, but then Kerry disturbs me again.

  “What’s up?” I ask, lifting my head up.

  “Clarke wants to see you,” she says, biting her lip and then locking the door behind her. She spreads herself on my desk, leaning over. “God, you look so hot today. Do you think you can come over later?”

  I adjust myself on the chair, wondering what the hell is her deal? I’m not in the mood to be her plaything tonight.

  “No, I have to work on this case, and that should take me all night,” I say, giving her some lame excuse. “Why does Clarke want to see me?”

  “Not sure, but he didn’t sound too happy when he told me to call you. What did you do this time, naughty boy?” she asks, playing with my tie.

  I clear my throat and catch her hand. “Don’t. I have shitloads on my plate today, and besides, I have to go,” I say to her and get up, thinking about Tahlia’s soft lips and that piercing in her mouth. I shouldn’t have stopped seeing the shrink. She wanted me to stay, but I was too fucking scared.

  Clarke’s office is the last room in the station. It’s an old building that needs to be renovated, and most days the heating isn’t even working properly. I knock twice and then go in. Kerry was right. Clarke looks like this isn’t one of his best days.

  “Thomson, sit down and listen to me carefully,” he says, moving around the desk and leaning over so he is close to me. Intimidation—he’s trying hard to make me feel small and inadequate. “The parents of the girl that was murdered just came in to see me and they are not happy with the way you spoke to them.”

  He should have known that I wouldn’t be any good at that.

  “What exactly were they unhappy about? We don’t have any concrete suspect yet. Rogers has gone through the CCTV footage and we’re waiting for phone records, sir,” I explain, rubbing my tired eyes.

  Clarke shakes his head, folding his arms over his chest and looking at me like I don’t have a clue what I’m talking about.

  “According to Mr. Wallace, you haven’t shown any empathy,” Clarke says. “For Christ’s sake, Micah. These people just lost their daughter. You have to be a bit subtler. Put yourself in their shoes.”

  Empathy is a big word. I have tried, but what the hell am I supposed to do? Steph was ripped away from me, and I would have done anything to bring her back. I can’t even bring myself to talk to a woman about being with her, so how am I ever going to become more empathetic?

  “The same thing happened during the conference, Thomson. The wolves needed to be convinced that you know what you’re doing. They were right, you’re young, but you should have just stuck to the statement. There was no need to throw any defensive comments back at them.”

  Sudden anger shoots down my bones and I don’t know what to fucking tell him. Clarke asked me to talk to the wolves, and I did that.

  “Sir, this is a joke. The Wallaces shouldn’t be complaining. Their daughter was murdered and that’s the fact,” I snarl, tensing my jaw. This is my investigation and I’ll find the person that murdered Suranne Wallace. I’m fully convinced that I’m dealing with the same person from eight years ago. The fire in my stomach crushes my ribs when I bring up the memories of finding her in her room.

  “Micah, you need to work on your people skills. The university degree is not enough in this line of work. You’re still inexperienced and you have to learn a lot. Sometimes you need to think before you say certain things, son.”

  I clench my fists until I cut the circulation to my fingers, wondering if I’m hearing the old guy correctly. People skills? No one has ever complained before. This is the first time and the Wallaces are oversensitive.

  “I might be young, but I know what I’m doing, sir.”

  “Just stick to Rogers. You will make an excellent detective, but you do need to pay attention to people. In this line of work the people skills are very important, Micah. I’m just giving you friendly advice. I’m counting on you, so take this advice to heart and don’t fuck it up.”

  Chapter Seven

  Damn sparks.

  “The phone records are back. There is one specific number that keeps popping up, so let’s assume that she had a relationship with the caller,” Rogers says, showing me a phone record with the number highlighted in yellow.

  It’s early morning, just after eight o’clock, and after being up all night I feel like crap. I kept studying the files, comparing everything, even the smallest details, to Steph�
�s murder case from years ago. I dread to think that we are dealing with a serial killer. Of course, I can’t ignore the fact that there is an eight-year gap between these two murders, which is very unusual.

  Right now I can barely keep my eyes open and my muscles feel stiff. I didn’t want to fall asleep, knowing that my nightmares would come back. I pushed myself too much at the gym this morning, but I needed to feel in control again. Exercise helps me deal with the stress, and I’ve had a lot of that lately.

  “We need to get back to campus and find whatever we can about who she used to hang around with. I’ve checked her Facebook profile; she has been quite active there. Her housemate isn’t in any of her photos. She doesn’t exist online and some of her records from the time she lived in Stoke are missing.”

  “Everyone has a Facebook account these days,” Rogers tells me.

  “Exactly; that’s why we need to find out what her deal is. Talk to her tutors, other students, and find out if she was close to anyone in Braxton,” I point out, counting how many times the number pops up on the page. More than fifteen. Good. That can lead us to something.

  Rogers frowns, like he doesn’t get what I just said.

  “Who? The pinky head?” he asks stupidly. “Don’t you think we should be concentrating on finding the real suspect?”

  “She is most probably the real suspect, Rogers. My gut feeling tells me that this girl is hiding something.”

  “Fine, man, whatever. Just make sure we do everything by the book. I don’t want to get us mangled up in any mess. Clarke wants us to find a lead, fast.”

  It looks like Rogers had the talk about how to handle the investigation that I’m in charge of. Clarke must have told him to keep an eye on me for various reasons. The press hasn’t left me alone since that damn conference, and everyone at the station knows that I fucked it up. I don’t want to think what’s going to happen if they reach out for my parents in London. They are willing to do anything just to earn some quick cash. Hell, the woman that gave birth to me hasn’t spoken to me for eight years. I still remember her ways of disciplining me. When I was seven she locked me in the shed and didn’t let me out for three days. I had never been so scared in my entire life and I was only a child then. I have no idea if she is still alive or not, but I don’t give a damn. The memories of that life aren’t important anymore. My life in the council estate ended the moment Steph died.

  Rogers leaves with the rest of the paperwork. We work through what we have for the next two hours. After another orange juice and a two-page report for Clarke, we are driving back to the campus, hoping to have a small breakthrough. For some reason I’m nervous. There is a possibility that I’ll see the pinky head again, maybe even interrogate her further. Someone needs to teach her some manners, but for some reason her sharp tongue is turning me on.

  I really need to get a grip and stop thinking about her that way.

  When Rogers parks the car in the visiting car park, we make a mutual decision to split. This way we will look less intimidating. Maybe some students will be more talkative if I hang around the campus alone. Rogers heads over to speak to the university staff and I walk down to the crime scene. We had a message from our liaison worker at the university that Tahlia and students from the floor above the crime scene were moved to the next house down. We wanted to keep everything as it was, in case the forensics team could find some more evidence. I really need to have another long chat with Tahlia, but I know for a fact that this wouldn’t be a wise move. I need to give her some space, see what she might do, how she will act. There is no doubt that she must have friends on campus or someone that she trusts. I don’t know why I’m hung up on her, but at the same time, she fucking lied. I forgot to ask her the most important question: what was she doing on the street alone so late when it was pissing cats and dogs?

  For a change the sun is shining today. I’m wearing dark pants and a grey shirt. I need to use my power to gain some information about my latest suspect. I wonder why Tahlia kept looking at my badge so intensely when I was talking to her yesterday.

  I head over there and I avoid her flat, but I ring the top one. Rogers mentioned that the flat is occupied by two Asian students. It’s late morning, so I presume that they are all in. I have a bit of time on my hands and I’m not in a hurry. Whoever it is lets me in without checking if I’m an ally or a foe. I make a mental note to talk to them about being more careful in situations like that. It looks like they haven’t learned anything from the crime that happened up their noses.

  A short Chinese girl stands in the doorway wearing a pink robe when I climb the stairs. She looks at me, not blinking, so I give her a friendly smile.

  “Carina Woo?” I ask to make sure that I have the right person on the list. She nods shyly. “I’m Detective Inspector Thomson. I need to ask you a few questions. Is it okay for us to talk?”

  “Okay, but the large man said that we were okay to go,” she mumbles with a heavy Asian accent.

  “The investigation is still pending, Miss Woo, and we need to clarify a few things. May I come in?” I repeat more abruptly.

  She reluctantly opens the door to let me in, making a face. The flat has an open-plan kitchen and living room. According to my notes, Woo lives here with her mate, Benjin Niku. He is also from China.

  She points me to the black sofa and sits on the chair, curling her long hair around her fingers. I clear my throat, wondering if I’m wasting my time with her. She doesn’t have any motive, and she claimed that she didn’t see anything that night when Suranne was murdered.

  “Miss Woo, according to Detective Rogers’s notes, you didn’t see anyone around the flats during the night that Miss Wallace died, right?”

  “No. I look at the window before I ready to bed and no one was outside. I always do it, because I’m scared sometimes,” she explains.

  “Okay, can you tell me more about the girls from the flat below? What was your relationship with Miss Sanderson and Miss Wallace?”

  “Suranne was okay, friendly. Invited me and Niku for pasta, but the other girl, Tahlia, always so quiet. She don’t talk much. Always fighting in the night with Suranne.”

  I make a note of that on the paper. Rogers didn’t say anything about a fight. Tahlia doesn’t like to socialise. Well, that doesn’t really surprise me. Maybe I’m reading too much into this and she is simply eccentric.

  “Fighting?” I repeat.

  “I hear it once a few times outside and in the night when we eat. They didn’t like each other. Tahlia saying that Suranne is going out with the bad man. She was jealous.”

  Now I’m starting to see a clear picture of my pinky hair. There has obviously been some sort of argument and Tahlia lied to me. She had some sort of conflict with Wallace.

  “What exactly have they argued about? Do you remember?” I press, knowing that I need to talk to Brandon about that. This whole case might be more complex than we both anticipated and I don’t need any complications right now, especially after the number I pulled at the conference. Clarke is full of shit. I know how to talk to people. There is nothing wrong with my manners.

  The Chinese girl doesn’t respond straight away. She looks around like she’s thinking. I scratch some notes on the pad, wondering why Tahlia lied to me. She was clearly angry about the fact that I was the one that needed to interview her.

  “No, I don’t remember. Tahlia wasn’t happy that Suranne was going out with that student. I think she was jealous. She isn’t very nice. Quiet… very quiet,” Woo responds.

  I try to ask her a few more questions, but she doesn’t seem to know anymore about this mysterious guy. She has been living above the victim for only three weeks, so I can’t assume that they knew each other well.

  After half an hour I leave with enough to pursue this further. The other student that lives with Woo had gone out to a lecture. I asked Woo where I could find him and then headed out.

  I pass the flat on the second floor, wondering if Tahlia is inside. I have an
urge to knock, to see her again, but instead I walk down. I haven’t got time for games, and I need to get some clarification on what exactly happened between her and Suranne Wallace.

  I walk for another twenty minutes, trying to get to know the area, trying to figure out how the killer got inside Suranne’s room without being seen. There is a large park several meters away. The porter mentioned that the gate gets locked every day at nine p.m., so the students have to walk around if they want to get back to their rooms.

  “So have you got anything, Mr. Hot Shot Detective?”

  I turn around abruptly and spot Sanderson standing a few meters away from me with a grocery bag. She is staring at me with the same disturbed expression on her face as when I interviewed her. No one has ever snuck up on me like that before. I didn’t even hear her approach. I inhale, looking over at her pretty face. She looks even hotter today, wearing large brown hippy trousers and a tight top. Her hair is tied up in a ponytail and her eyes are smoky. Her angry expression doesn’t stop the heat that suddenly settles back in my abdomen, my groin tightening, as she continues to stare back at me.

  “Well, I had a very interesting chat with Miss Woo from upstairs. By the looks of it, she was quite friendly with your roommate,” I reply, approaching her. She automatically tenses, like she’s scared to be close to me. I’m pretty good at reading people, but I just can’t figure out this girl at all.

  “Woo is full of shit. Suranne couldn’t stand her. I wouldn’t listen to her if I were you,” Tahlia says, sounding bored. I take another step, to test her reaction, to see if she doesn’t like men in general, or if it’s just me she isn’t very fond of. She sucks in that piercing on her lip and tingling sensations start invading my already stiff cock. I can’t stop imagining what I would do just to taste that scandalous mouth of hers.

  “Tell me about that guy that she was seeing. Apparently you two had a fight on the night she died?” I add, knowing that she must be aware of the attraction that keeps sizzling between us. She moves away, probably because she feels threatened by me.